In Her Place
by VanillaMostly
Summary: In the dullness of her jail, Margaery has a lot of time to think. [Margaery-centric oneshot]


**Spoilers up to end of AFFC!**

* * *

The Queen Regent left with a gloating smile on her face, her crimson skirt swishing. The gate closed and footsteps soon faded down the stone hallway. All that was left was silence. The septas guarding her cell had gone to accompany Cersei Lannister. Margaery was alone.

Only her good-mother's voice remained to occupy her.

_Grand Maester Pycelle has admitted providing you with moon tea, and your Blue Bard . . . _

Poor Wat; he was a funny fellow, as loud and energetic as his songs. He had a likable face, probably made more interesting framed by his blue hair. Alla thought no one noticed, but she giggled far too much when she was around him. Poor Alla as well. _They should not be involved in this. It's cruel, even for the lion bitch._

She was not too worried about Megga and Elinor; they were true Tyrell women and as sensible as they were loyal. Alla, however... she was still too young and fretted over the littlest things. The Lannister woman could use Alla, especially once she finds out about the Blue Bard. _If that happens..._ Margaery did not know what would exactly change. _Perhaps nothing._ She needed to see Grandmother...

She began to jump on her toes to gather warmth. She felt a little silly, doing something only little girls did on the street, but this helped to calm her. How laughable it would be if somebody saw her right now: wearing a dingy threadbare shift that smelled like sour mold, and likely herself smelling not much better. _They would think I've lost my wits. _Hopping barefoot would just complete the image.

_Has_ she lost her wits?

Outside, she heard them again - the people of King's Landing - shouting at the foot of the sept. Shouting her name. Earlier she tried climbing onto the bed, straining her eyes to see, but the windows here were so narrow that all she could make out was the sky. This meant she couldn't shout anything back to them, either. But even if she could, what would she say?

_Thank you, I am touched._

_Save me!_

In the stories the knight would come galloping on his white horse. Except her knight was nowhere close, and in fact _he_ might be the one who needed saving. _He's alright, _she told herself. _I would know if he isn't. _Loras broke his arm once during his years as squire for Renly Baratheon, and when Margaery received news of it in Highgarden she had been plagued with a horrible headache. The maester deemed it a simple head cold, but Margaery knew better. The day Willas lost his leg to the Red Viper, Margaery's foot cramped. These were signs. Grandmother called those "rubbish, Targaryen rubbish." It was one of the few matters on which Margaery and her grandmother never agreed.

Yes, Loras had Grandmother, and Mother, Garlan and Willas. He would be fine. _Tyrells grow strong together._ Margaery, she had...

She almost laughed. She had Father.

No doubt he was the most anxious of them all at this moment. Margaery could see him pacing in his chamber, maybe even smashing things. Good, then, that Margaery's grandmother had already returned to Highgarden, or there'd be a row blasting apart walls of the Red Keep. Margaery's father could never control his temper around his own mother. "My son hates me,"Lady Olenna once said to Margaery, rather gleefully. But Margaery had seen the way her father held Olenna's arm when he escorted her anywhere. _He loves her, even if she drives him mad. _He loved Margaery, too, because she was his only daughter, his precious rose. _His precious road to a crown._

Everyone was mad for a crown. Queen Cersei was. Renly had been. He would wed a woman for it and die for it. Everyone was mad for it, even Grandmother, though she would say, "Me, I don't want much. I should just like to keep my old shoddy back from hurting."

:

Margaery also did not want much of anything. She just wanted to be home, to take a nice bath and brush out her hair. She should even like to see her lord husband. Tommen would have no one to play kittens with today, or the morrow, or the next. He would not cry, though, because Margaery told him brave boys didn't cry.

"But I'm not brave," he had argued. "Myrcella is brave. Not me, I was always afraid of Joff."

"No matter, my love. Your brother is gone now."

Tommen had glanced around, then tiptoed and whispered in her ear, "I'm still afraid... of Mother, sometimes."

He looked so ashamed at his confession that Margaery felt a surge of pity and anger. The first was meant for her sad little king; the latter for the woman who made him that way. To Tommen, though, she smiled. "Are you afraid of me?"

"No," said Tommen shyly.

"Then you are brave. I'm a very frightening person. Joffrey had been afraid of me."

This made Tommen laugh, and Margaery laughed also.

:

That had not been very long ago, but already Margaery felt she could no longer muster a laugh, whether fake or real. _Two days. When the sun goes down, it'll be two days since they locked me in. _How much longer to go?

Grandmother had taught her well on the importance of patience. Patience and trust.

(But that was when Grandmother was by her side.)

(That was when their plan had worked perfectly _right_.)

This was no good. She was becoming frightened. _Fear, _the Queen of Thorns said, _is a fool's weakness. _Fear was for children like Tommen and the trembling Sansa Stark. Margaery had not feared Joffrey, and anyway she had seen her fair share of death. Renly in his death looked more peaceful than he ever did in life. Joffrey, too - the dying part had not seemed so pleasant, but for Margaery it would be quick.

Her thoughts were running so wildly they were turning morbid. (That answered the question. Yes, she _was _losing her wits.)

What Margaery needed was not really her grandmother, but a sign. _Just a sign__. _Something to tell her that everything _would _work, that this would _not _be the first time her grandmother failed Margaery, that all these risks and efforts would be, in the end, worth one measly crown.

:

Eventually she heard voices, echoing off the cold stone walls.

"...your lip to stop bleeding."

"No, Sister, 'tis just a scratch."

"She is a fierce one, aye."

"We must pray."

After that, the septas spoke no more, not even to continue in lower murmurs. Septas were not as chatty as court ladies, which was too bad. Still, they spoke enough.

Margaery sat down on her straw-made bed. Her legs were numb from the exercise; she was out of breath and her heart was hammering, but she was warm. What was it that Cersei Lannister had said? _This must be very frightening for you. I shall forgive those words. I would be afraid as well, in your place. _But this time, Margaery smiled.

Here was her sign.


End file.
